Partial to Martial

Marcus Valerius Martialis is best known for his acidic epigrams but he also wrote one of the most touching poems ever penned, which became a model for poets to come...

Aug 13, 2024

Marcus Valerius Martialis, better known today simply as Martial, was born around 40 AD and died around 104 AD. He was a Latin poet from Hispania (the Iberian Peninsula, or modern-day Spain).

This is my favorite Martial epigram and I remain irate that someone beat me to the first translation:

There is no glory in outstripping donkeys.—Martial, translator unknown

I did, however, come up with a rhyming couplet that catches Martial’s irreverent, ironic spirit, if not his exact meaning:

There’s no need for sass,
when outstripping some inglorious ass.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To the ashes of the dead glory comes too late.—Martial, translator unknown

Martial is best known for his twelve books of epigrams, published in Rome between AD 86 and 103, during the reigns of the emperors Domitian, Nerva and Trajan. In these short, witty, often scathing and sometimes deliciously raunchy poems, Martial lampooned "civilization" and the boorish/scandalous activities of his contemporaries.

You ask me why I've sent you no new verses?
There might be reverses.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You ask me to recite my poems to you?
I know how you'll "recite" them, if I do.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Martial wrote more than 1,500 epigrams, most of them in elegiac couplets, and is generally considered to be the father of the modern epigram.

You ask me why I choose to live elsewhere?
You're not there.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it there.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it, mon frère.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Martial has been described as "colorful" and as "Rome's wiseacre poet." Martial has been a possible or probable influence on epigrammatists such as Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sir Thomas More, Shakespeare, John Donne, Ben Jonson, Robert Herrick, Matthew Prior, Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, Voltaire, Dr. Samuel Johnson, Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, William Wordsworth, Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Emily Dickinson, Walter Savage Landor, Robert Frost and J. V. Cunningham.

But the formidable Martial had his tender side and wrote one of the most touching couplets in any language:

Lie lightly on her, turf and dew ...
She put so little weight on you.
—Martial, translator unknown

The lines above appear in a poem Martial wrote for a slave girl, Erotion, who died six days short of her sixth birthday. The image of earth lying "lightly" on the grave of a girl who died before her time would later be used by Robert Herrick in his poem "Another: Upon a Child" and by Oscar Wilde in the marvelous elegy, "Requiescat," he wrote for his sister Isola who died at age ten. Two translations of the full Martial poem appear later on this page.

Another: Upon a Child
by Robert Herrick

Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies:
Pray be silent, and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her.

This is another Martial translation that irks me because I didn’t come up with it first:

Readers and listeners praise my books;
You swear they're worse than a beginner's.
Who cares? I always plan my dinners
To please the diners, not the cooks.
—Martial, translated by R. L. Barth

These are Martial translations that I did manage to come up with, beating other translators to the punch (please pardon the pun):

1.
You’ll find good poems, but mostly poor and worse,
my peers being “diverse” in their verse.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

2.
Some good poems here, but most not worth a curse:
such is the crapshoot of a book of verse.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sunt bona, sunt quaedam mediocria, sunt mala plura
quae legis hic: aliter non fit, Auite, liber.

He undertook to be a doctor
but turned out to be an undertaker.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Chirurgus fuerat, nunc est uispillo Diaulus:
coepit quo poterat clinicus esse modo.

1.
The book you recite from, Fidentinus, was my own,
till your butchering made it yours alone.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

2.
The book you recite from I once called my own,
but you read it so badly, it’s now yours alone.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

3.
You read my book as if you wrote it,
but you read it so badly I’ve come to hate it.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Quem recitas meus est, o Fidentine, libellus:
sed male cum recitas, incipit esse tuus.

Recite my epigrams? I decline,
for then they’d be yours, not mine.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ut recitem tibi nostra rogas epigrammata. Nolo:
non audire, Celer, sed recitare cupis.

I do not love you, but cannot say why.
I do not love you: no reason, no lie.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare:
hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.

1.
You’re young and lovely, wealthy too,
and yet you’re still a silly shrew.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

2.
You’re young and lovely, wealthy too,
but that changes nothing, since you're a shrew.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bella es, nouimus, et puella, uerum est,
et diues, quis enim potest negare?
Sed cum te nimium, Fabulla, laudas,
nec diues neque bella nec puella es.

You never wrote a poem,
yet criticize mine?
Stop abusing me or write something fine
of your own!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

He starts everything but finishes nothing;
thus I suspect there's no end to his fucking.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You dine in great magnificence
while offering guests a pittance.
Sextus, did you invite
friends to dinner tonight
to impress us with your enormous appetite?
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Coq au vin
by Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you merely an éclair to the greedy?

2.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you tart Amaro to the greedy?

Amaro is an after-dinner liqueur thought to aid the digestion after a large meal.

3.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you an aperitif to the greedy?

4.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but they’re pimps to the seedy.

Ad cenam invitant omnes te, Phoebe, cinaedi.
mentula quem pascit, non, puto, purus homo est.

To read my Book the Virgin shy
May blush (while Brutus standeth by),
But when he's gone, read through what's writ,
And never stain a cheek for it.
—Martial, translation by Robert Herrick

You alone own prime land, dandy!
Gold, money, the finest porcelain—you alone!
The best wines of the most famous vintages—you alone!
Discrimination, taste and wit—you alone!
You have it all—who can deny that you alone are set for life?
But everyone has had your wife—
she is never alone!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To you, my departed parents, dear mother and father,
I commend my little lost angel, Erotion, love’s daughter,
who died six days short of completing her sixth frigid winter.
Protect her now, I pray, should the chilling dark shades appear;
muzzle hell’s three-headed hound, less her heart be dismayed!
Lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade,
her devoted patrons. Watch her play childish games
as she excitedly babbles and lisps my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was surely no burden to you!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Martial wrote this touching elegy for a little slave girl, Erotion, who died six days before her sixth birthday. The poem has been nominated as Martial’s masterpiece by L. J. Lloyd and others. Erotion means “little love” and may correspond to our term “love child.” It has been suggested she may have been Martial’s child by a female slave. That could explain why Martial is asking his parents’ spirits to welcome, guide and watch over her spirit. Martial uses the terms patronos (patrons) and commendo (commend); in Rome a freed slave would be commended to a patron. A girl freed from slavery by death might need patrons as protectors on the “other side,” according to Greek and Roman views of the afterlife, where the afterworld houses evil shades and is guarded by a monstrous three-headed dog, Cerberus. Martial is apparently asking his parents to guide the girl’s spirit away from Cerberus and the dark spirits to the heavenly Elysian fields where she can play and laugh without fear. If I am correct, Martial’s poem is not just an elegy, but a prayer-poem for protection, perhaps of his own daughter. Albert A. Bell supports this hypothesis with the following arguments: (1) Martial had Erotion cremated, a practice preferred by the upper classes, (2) “he buried her with the full rites befitting the child of a Roman citizen,” (3) he entrusted her [poetically] to his parents, and (4) he maintained her grave for years.

To you, my departed parents, with much emotion,
I commend my little lost darling, my much-kissed Erotion,
who died six days short of completing her sixth bitter winter.
Protect her, I pray, from hell’s hound and its dark shades a-flitter;
and please don’t let fiends leave her maiden heart dismayed!
But lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade
with her cherished friends, excitedly lisping my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was such a slight burden to you!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eros was the ancient Greek god of erotic love (or lust) and Cupid was his Roman equivalent. However, the ancients were more likely to berate Eros/Cupid for toying with their affections, than to praise him. Modern poets have been known to feel the same way...

Preposterous Eros
by Michael R. Burch

“Preposterous Eros” – Patricia Falanga

Preposterous Eros shot me in
the buttocks, with a Devilish grin,
spent all my money in a rush
then left my heart effete pink mush.

MARTIAL EPIGRAMS BY UNKNOWN TRANSLATORS

Gifts are hooks.

Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst.

Fortune gives too much to many, enough to none.

My poems are naughty, but my life is pure.

Whoever makes great presents, expects great presents in return.

If fame is to come only after death, I am in no hurry for it.

To be able to look back upon one's past life with satisfaction is to live twice.

Why do you maim your slave, Ponticus, by cutting out his tongue?
Do you not know that the public says what he cannot?

The bee enclosed and through the amber shown
Seems buried in the juice which was his own.

Take while you can; brief is the moment of profit.

Laugh, if thou art wise.

Lawyers are men who hire out their words and anger.

Too late is tomorrow's life; live for today.

Be content to be what you are, and prefer nothing to it, and do not fear or wish for your last day.

Virtue extends our days: he lives two lives who relives his past with pleasure.

The mode of death is sadder than death itself.

He who refuses nothing will soon have nothing to refuse.

You gave me nothing during your life, but you promise to provide for me at your death. If you are not a fool, you know what I wish for!

To have nothing, Nestor, is not poverty.

Brief Encounters: Other Roman, Italian and Greek Epigrams

No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.—Seneca the Younger, translation by Michael R. Burch

Little sparks ignite great flames.—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch

My objective is not to side with the majority, but to avoid the ranks of the insane.—Marcus Aurelius, translation by Michael R. Burch

Warmthless beauty attracts but does not engage us; it floats like hookless bait.—Capito, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.—Michelangelo, translation by Michael R. Burch

He who follows will never surpass.—Michelangelo, translation by Michael R. Burch

Nothing enables authority like silence.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch

Time is sufficient for anyone who uses it wisely.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch

Blinding ignorance misleads us. Myopic mortals, open your eyes!—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch

It is easier to oppose evil from the beginning than at the end.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch

Love distills the eyes’ desires, love bewitches the heart with its grace.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fools call wisdom foolishness.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Improve yourself by other men's writings, attaining less painfully what they gained through great difficulty.—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch

Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel, or a house when it's time to change residences, even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.―Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch

Wall, I'm astonished that you haven't collapsed,
since you're holding up verses so prolapsed!
—Ancient Roman graffiti, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, Latin epigram, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch